


Never Content

by silvershrubbery, Sukiyaki_Rut



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2 POVs, Co-Written, College AU, Crack, Fluff, It's basically a soap opera, Multi, Viktor and Chris are TAs, dancers au, it's so gay, roommates au, so much gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:25:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9922742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvershrubbery/pseuds/silvershrubbery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sukiyaki_Rut/pseuds/Sukiyaki_Rut
Summary: "If you look for perfection, you'll never be content."Or:Mila and Sara end up as roommates their sophomore year of college, but there's a problematic division among the international dance students that puts them on opposite sides of a war.  Despite that Sara can't deny her crush on Mila, and Mila has a growing appreciation for the quiet but free-spirited Italian.  When a scandal ensues, things become more complicated for everyone involved.Alternates between Mila's and Sara's perspectives each written by one of us, but you'll catch on.  Also, the ages have been adjusted so Mila and Sara are the same year in college; everything else is pretty much based on canon.





	1. Like the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time co-authoring for both of us, so if there are changes anyone recommends, please leave a note in the comments. This fic was born after a lot of history homework and romance movies very late at night, so the plot leans a bit toward soap opera crack as we go, but hopefully it's still enjoyable :)

Mila stared with dazed eyes into her coffee cup. After two years in America, she still hated the taste of the drink. It was unbelievably bitter but still necessary for her to function correctly in the mornings. She had been tired before, of course, but never this exhausted, not even after the longest practices. Moving really was the best cardio. 

“You look terrible,” Vitkor said, emerging from the kitchen, bearing his own mug in one hand. He dropped down onto the chair across from Mila. She turned her bright blue eyes upwards with a threatening glance. Viktor had known her far long enough to understand that it could be dangerous to approach her before she’d had her morning fill of the caffeine. Without replying, she went back to her mug and took a deep sip. “Mila,” Viktor laughed, leaning forward in his chair, “you’re practically a - oh, what’s it that they call it here - a junkie? Yes. A junkie.” 

“ Eto slishkom rano dlya etogo, Viktor,” she responded. 

\--- --- ---

Three days ago, she flew into New York City from Saint Petersburg in a grueling ten hour flight. Mila never liked the stale, recycled air of the cabin, but on that particular flight, she did like the very handsome American sitting between her and the aisle. When the plane landed, she took his number at the gate while Viktor watched on. As she exited, Viktor looked at her mournfully. “He’s beautiful,” Viktor sighed expressively, “I wish  _ I _ would’ve gotten his number.” 

Mila laughed, slinging an arm around his waist playfully. “You have a boyfriend,” she reminded him.

Viktor sighed. “A face like that shouldn’t go unappreciated.” 

“And it won’t,” Mila said with a grin, waving her phone opened to the man’s - Ryan’s apparently- contact. 

After finding her bags in a scene of massive chaos, Mila escaped the bustling airport with Viktor. One overpriced and cramped taxi ride later, she found herself at his new apartment. There, his boyfriend was waiting. In the general sense of everything, the Japanese man had been entirely unexpected. Though Mila wasn’t entirely sure, she thought that Viktor had been with Christophe, the Swiss dancer, to at least some degree of seriousness the previous year. When Viktor packed up his bags to return to Russia, though, he also seemed to have packed up whatever he had with Chris, because when the Japanese dancer showed up at their studio one day over the summer, he and Viktor seemed to click instantly. 

Mila learned that the new dancer - Yuuri - was from Hasetsu, Japan, but that he was studying internationally at a college in Detroit. He was in St. Petersburg for the summer to study under their coaches, but Viktor quickly took him under his wing instead. In just a few weeks, the pair transitioned from a dancer and his instructor to an adorable couple. They became so inseparable that one day, Yuuri came to the studio carrying his acceptance letter for transferring to NYU, the college where Mila danced and Viktor taught. Three weeks before classes started, they left St. Petersburg to move into their apartment. A little over two weeks later, Mila followed them.

Her first three days in New York were predominantly spent shopping, boxing up her new things, and enjoying Yuuri’s fantastic cooking. She slept very little due to a handful of factors: first and foremost, her excitement at starting her second year at college, but also because the small apartment and thin walls did very little to muffle the noises that came from Viktor’s bedroom every single night. The combination of too little sleep and too much shopping and moving her things sent her into a deep, seemingly inescapable exhaustion that was sure to last for the next week.

\--- --- ---

“Don’t forget, Mila, no one at NYU is going to understand you if you keep speaking in Russian,” Viktor reminded her. Mila frowned into the cup. A year ago, her English had been poor, existent only because of the international dance tours she participated in each year. It still wasn’t the best, heavily accented and sincerely lacking when she wasn’t focused. 

“Fine,” she groaned, this time in English. “It’s too early for this,” she repeated, this time speaking with a bad attempt at an American accent. Viktor leaned back in his chair as he laughed, and the sight eventually drew a similar reaction from her. The coffee was working. 

\--- --- ---

After eating lunch with Yuuri and Viktor, Mila and the happy couple met up with Georgi on campus. “Make sure to be careful with him,” Mila reminded the pair as they crossed campus. 

Yuuri furrowed his eyebrows.

“Can you go over that situation one more time? I don’t think I understand it,” Yuuri asked.

“No one does,” Viktor shot back with a laugh.

“Hey, don’t be mean. I feel bad for him,” Mila insisted. “Anyway, he was with this girl from that really nice college here. Columbia, I think.” She slid out her phone and opened Instagram, finding Georgi’s page. His feed was a never ending thread of pictures of or with a beautiful brunette: them kissing, them at the beach, her posing dramatically beside a statue. Mila offered the phone out to Yuuri. “That’s her. Her name’s Anya. Apparently Georgi caught her cheating on him with some random guy and he’s still really heartbroken about it. Actually, Kareem told me that he started crying at the grocery store the other day because he saw these Pop Tarts and they ‘reminded him of -’”

Before Mila could finish, Yuuri interrupted. “How do you know that he caught her cheating?”

Mila laughed. “News travels fast here. There aren’t too many international dance students.”

The Japanese boy laughed uneasily. “You make it sound like a cult.”

Viktor replied this time, smiling devilishly. “Maybe it is.” Yuuri gulped uncomfortably. 

Just as Mila was about to finish her embezzled story of gossip, Georgi crossed into view suddenly. Her demeanor switched instantly. “Hey, Georgi!” she called enthusiastically, looping her arm through his. 

“Hey, Mila,” he acknowledged with a half smile. Together, the four found a place at the fountain and dropped down. 

“When do you move into your dorm?” Georgi asked Mila.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sometime today. I already stopped in and grabbed my keys and signed the papers. All that’s left is moving my things.”

“Do you hear that?” Viktor asked, “It almost sounds like she’s about to ask you for a favor, Georgi.” Mila dissolved into laughter as she pulled off her sunglasses to reveal her batting her eyelashes dramatically. 

“Pleeeease?” she begged, drawing out the word and widening her eyes up at him.

Georgi gestured to Viktor and Yuuri. “Are they not helping?”

“Sorry, we can’t,” Yuuri explained empathetically. “We have plans.”

Mila turned to face him. “You never explained what the plans were. Are you going to have fun without us?”

Viktor grinned lewdly. “Of course, though I don’t think your idea of fun includes my bed and -”

“VIKTOR!” Yuuri protested loudly, his face turning a shade of red nearly as vibrant as Mila’s hair. 

Georgi, looking as if he were suffering from second-hand embarrassment, turned to Mila. “Fine. I’ll help. But I want to go now, because I have some things to do later on.”

Mila threw a hand up in the air dramatically. “Wow, everyone has plans but me.” Viktor laughed. 

“You could call your American guy,” Viktor suggested at the same time that Yuuri said “you should probably take advantage of the extra time and catch up on sleep. I’m sure you’re still jet lagged.”

“That’s not terrible,” Mila agreed. Sleeping in her own bed in a room devoid of any explicit and loud noise sounded sublime. She stood up from the fountain, stretching out her long and lithe body as she did so, then popped her sunglasses back on. Mila looked to Georgi. “I’m going to become a part of the fountain if I sit there for too long,” she said in mock seriousness. “We can start now so that you can get to those plans of yours later.” Georgi stood, too, and waved a goodbye to Yuuri and Viktor, probably forgetting that he and Mila would have to go back there for her things. He started to leave campus, quickly leaving Mila a few paces behind. “See you later!” she called to Yuuri and Viktor, waving back to them before taking off, making quick strides to keep up with Georgi’s incessantly long ones.

\--- --- ---

After a long morning of moving, Mila arrived at a grand conclusion: Although it was very fun to shop for college, moving all the things she bought was decidedly  _ not.  _ Atop a large, bright red moving bin teetered a carefully stacked pile of things. Beside it was a somewhat annoyed looking Georgi _.  _ “You’ll never use all of this  _ der’mo _ , Mila,” he groaned.

Her responding smile was bright. “Maybe not,” she agreed, “But it was fun to buy, and I’m not sure which things I’ll need.” 

“It’s your second year, Mila. Didn’t you have most of this already?” Georgi leaned up against the rough brown brick of the wall behind him.

“Doesn’t matter,” she teased, starting to push the large cart with a heave. 

“You’re hopeless,” he groaned, “I’m going back to my apartment.” With that, Georgi turned away, heading down the horribly crowded street. 

“Thank you for your help! Have fun with your plans!” Mila called loudly. If Georgi heard, he didn’t respond. “Great talk!” she added, this time to herself. She frowned at the large cart which had stopped moving. It was very obviously far too full and heavy but now, it was too late to go back. She had to haul everything all the way to the seventh floor which to some could serve an alternative to suicide. Mila was lucky that she was an athlete, because if she wasn’t, she likely wouldn’t make it through the big crowds and through the maze that constituted her residence hall. 

She took another deep breath and began to push the cart. The hot August sun shone down brutally, much hotter than she was used to in Saint Petersburg. Mila’s saviours were the length of her shorts and the lack of sleeves on her shirt, serving as the only gap between sweating and heat stroke. She managed to steer the cart through the front doors, almost collapsing at the glorious feeling of the cool air biting at her skin in the most relieving way. 

After some time, Mila navigated her way through the lobby, finding an elevator and a random student kind enough to press the button for her. She gasped, sinking back against the cart until the elevator dinged cheerfully. The others allowed her to pile herself and things into the elevator, then crowded in around her. “Seventh floor, please,” she called out. 

“Which floor?” came back a voice.

“Seven,” she said again.

“Eleven, you said? Okay!” 

“No, seven!” Mila begged.

“What?”

“SEVEN.” 

“Seven?”

“Da - I mean - yes!” 

“What did you say?”

“Yes!” 

“Yes what?” 

“Oh my God, she wants the seventh floor” someone said at last, squeezing to the side of the elevator to hit the button. Defeated, Mila whispered her thanks. As the elevator made its rocky ascent to various floors, Mila leaned her head against the wall. Finally, the others cleared out, leaving her alone when the light for the seventh floor flicked on. Before the doors slid open, she began rolling her cart towards the entrance, arriving there just as they opened to reveal the hallway.

Just then, the small wheel of the cart caught in the gap of the elevator’s shaft. Unaware, Mila continued to push until her cart began to tip and it was too late to stop it. “No! No no no no no!” She protested, throwing her hands out as if she could somehow catch the load. Half of the things on the top teetered uneasily before unceremoniously crashing to the floor. “ Chert voz'mi!” she cried, managing to shove herself and the cart out of the elevator before the doors slid closed and the elevator continued its ascent. Mila haphazardly stacked the things again quickly, relying on her own hope and prayers instead of Georgi’s Tetris skills to keep her things together on the last leg of her trip to her room.

Mila hastily made her way down the hallway, exhaling with immense relief when she finally saw the engraved placard on the door, labeling it 714, or, unofficially, the end to Mila’s suffering. With a half shaking hand, she found her key within her pocket and by the aid of some vast miracle managed to guide it into the lock. With a metallic  _ click _ , the door unlocked and the knob gave under Mila’s hand, allowing her to step inside to find whatever paradise awaited there.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“All I’m saying is that he has to be screwing somebody, and it may as well be me.”

“All  _ I’m _ saying is that you’re horny as hell and looking to rebound.”

“Shut the fuck up, Natalie!”  
Sara rolled her eyes.  This again.  The same conversation happened after each of Lindsay’s breakups.  No, it was more often than that now that she thought about it.  Every time Viktor Nikiforov walked to class or stood in line at a restaurant or studied at the library, there was some version of this.  As if on cue, Liza - the fourth girl lounging on the lawn - interrupted with her latest bit of gossip.  She was practically bursting after a summer away from most of her sorority sisters, while Sara was wondering once again why she’d let Mickey talk her into joining in the first place.  

_ “It’ll be fun!  You’ll make so many friends, and I won’t have to worry about any perverts dating my sister!” _

Right.  That was why.  Because Mickey still thought he could tell her what to do.  It was getting old very quickly and was one of a variety of reasons why she’d decided things would be different this year.  Besides, once he’d gone to a party last year and seen her flirting with Seung-Gil, he seemed to have realized that a sorority wasn’t necessarily the most chaste environment.  

“I heard he hooked up with an undergrad over the summer,” Liza supplied now, returning Sara to the inane conversation.  The blonde stretched out on the picnic blanket they were reclining on and made eyes at a passing freshman.  Washington Square Park was the hub for students when class wasn’t in session, and a group of sorority girls lounging near the central plaza attracted just the attention the girls wanted.

“Jealous!  Who was it?” Lindsay shrieked.

“Some guy,” LIza shrugged.  She obviously knew more but enjoyed keeping her friends in the dark until the right moment and thus wouldn’t divulge her secrets until she calculated the moment to be right.  It was the only thing she could calculate really.  “I heard he wasn’t even that cute, kind of fat.”

There was a gasp from Lindsay, not at the information, but rather at the figure walking onto the quad.  “There he is!  Look at him!  I swear he got hotter over the summer!”  She moaned with all the flair of an actress and fanned herself with her hand.  “I’d do anything to get him to look at me just once.”  
Natalie snorted, and Sara tuned out the likely inappropriate response that followed.  She could care less about Nikiforov, but she was still watching the parade of Russian students who all seemed to spend time together.  They sat on the edge of the fountain, scattering those who had occupied the seats while also gaining an audience.  

“I bet ten bucks he’s banging that Russian skank who’s always hanging around him,” Natalie muttered darkly.  For all her ribbing about Lindsay’s crush, she was just as infatuated.  

Lindsay scoffed.  “She’s not even pretty!  Don’t you agree, Sara?”  
“Hmm?” Sara looked up.  “Oh, yeah, total trash.”  She was relieved when her friends laughed and thereby gave her leave to resume staring at the Russian.  Mila Babicheva.  Her artfully cropped red hair swung as she shook her head in laughter.  Long, thin fingers removed her dark sunglasses, swinging them at her side and drawing attention to the cut off shorts that showcased her long dancer’s legs.  Sara felt something twist in her stomach.  How did anyone have hands like those?  Did she play an instrument?  Violin or piano would be Sara’s guess, and she’d spent some time guessing, more than she would like to admit even to herself.  

The Russian girl laughed again at something Nikiforov said and threw her hand out to grab his shoulder.  The fingers tightened for a second there, and Sara hated the jealousy that rose in her.  The rumor mill spread plenty of stories about the handsome man, and many of them placed him and Mila together just because of their proximity.  No one was sure who Nikiforov was actually dating or if he was, though there were certainly rumors of one-night stands, often spread by the alleged participants and with no proof.  Still, both Nikiforov and Mila seemed at ease with the contact between them.  And why shouldn’t they?  Viktor was the king of the school with eighty percent of the students and a good thirty percent of the faculty ready to do anything he asked.  And Mila, well, if Viktor was the school’s king, she was it’s under-worshipped goddess. Beauties like that just went together.  That was the way of the world, and it always would be.

Sara watched Mila talk in a sort of awe.  Bright red lips and impossibly white teeth made a smile so contagious and beautiful that Sara didn’t understand how she could be the only casualty.  She didn’t even dare examine the rest of Mila’s undoubtedly perfect ensemble.  It would be torturing herself to see the toned muscles of her arms and legs, both of which were on full view thanks to the hot weather.  God, her arms were toned though.  No, Sara spent enough time staring at those arms when she was at the gym, a place she had allegedly started going to in order to lose the ten pounds everyone in the sorority was trying for, but really she’d started going only once she learned that Mila liked lifting.  

In all honesty, Sara was as bad as Lindsay, and she knew it.  At least Lindsay had a chance though; Viktor had dated/slept with people of a variety of genders, while Mila was more of a mystery, but was widely assumed to be straight.  Sara herself was attracted mostly, if not completely, to women, but didn’t mind flirting with guys like Seung-Gil to make Michele mad.  It was completely innocuous, especially as Seung-Gil spent most of his free time staring after Leo de la Iglesia.  He still adamantly claimed to be straight though.  Sara had a bet with Emil as to when he would come out and was truly hoping it would be this year because she did not have a spare fifty dollars lying around.  Sara had never dated seriously though.  She’d had a few crushes, especially when she was younger, but school bullies had ended those rather absolutely.  Michele of course had stuck up for her, but he’d then taken that role to the position of being Sara’s protector and inhibiting all dates throughout secondary school.  It had been a coordinated effort to go with Emil, Michele’s best friend, to  _ I Cento Giorni _ , the Italian version of America’s proms. 

“Sara!  Sara, what the hell?  Are you even listening to me?”  

It took a pathetically long time for Sara to draw her attention back to her friends.  “Sorry, what?”  
“We’re going back to the house now.  Are you coming with or not?”  

Sara glanced back at the Russians.  She kind of wanted to stay, but… “Yeah, I-I’m coming.”  Reluctantly, she stood and gathered up the picnic blanket as she followed the other girls.  She forced herself not to look back at Mila. 

Liza rolled her eyes, apparently noticing what had previously captured Sara’s attention.  “You’re worse than Lindsay.  At least she can have a conversation while she stares.”  
“Sorry,” Sara murmured.  

“Don’t be so harsh, Lizzie,” Natalie laughed.  “It’s excusable for Viktor.  Besides, it’s not like Sara of all people would actually get in your way.”  Liza’s eyes widened in anger, but Natalie shook her head.  “Don’t give me that!  You like him as much as the rest of us, and you’re just jealous because you know you’re not even one of the top ten hottest girls in the sorority, and you know you don’t stand a chance!”

Liza gaped then turned the expression to a scowl that erased all prettiness from her features.  “Do you really want to go there with me, Nat?  I know things about you that would get you _blacklisted_ from the next Delta Phi party!  Why -”  
“Actually,” Sara cut in.  “I just remembered Michele wants to meet for lunch.  I’ve got to go!”  The anger drained out of the girls’ expressions as they hugged Sara good-bye and, after taking the picnic blanket from her, placed little European kisses on her cheeks, a habit they believed made them cute.  In actuality, Sara just found it a little strange.  Sure, it was normal enough at home, but it wasn’t something Americans did, and she wasn’t sure it actually made these girls special so much as marked their own sense of superiority for everyone to see.   

She wasn’t actually meeting Michele for lunch of course.  She spent enough time with him anyway and had practically begged Emil to take her brother to a museum for the day.  Ideally, they would be gone long enough for Sara to get her room assignment and unpack.  Last year, Michele had helped her and inadvertently found her birth control.  Though Sara assured him it was just in case and informed him that she’d been taking it since she was fourteen, Michele assured her back that it would never be necessary.  She still took the pills, if less obviously, but she’d also invested in some clothes over the summer that were a bit sexier than she usually wore and she did  _ not _ want Michele to see those.  He would probably host a bonfire and call their parents to demand she go back to Italy.   

Not sure where she would go before she could check in to her room, Sara wandered back to the main part of campus.  She took her phone out of the pocket of her loose jeans and started a playlist of pop music that she usually used to rejuvenate herself whenever she got to thinking about Mila or Michele or how much she wanted to quit the sorority.  It didn’t always help, since she wasn’t a fan of most of the Top 40, but it was what her sorority sisters worshipped, and she was convinced that if she listened to the music enough, she would ingrain it like her friends.  

“Hey, Sara,” a sultry voice came from her right as an arm slid around her shoulders.  

Sara rolled her eyes, “Better not let Michele see you, Chris.”

“Please,” Chris laughed.  “If Michele hasn’t figured out my sexuality yet, he’s more oblivious than I thought.”

“He’ll probably think you took one look at me and turned into a straight pervert.”  
Chris’s hand slid low on her back, “Do you want me to?”  
She elbowed him, not hard, just enough to tease.  “In your dreams, Swiss Cheese.  Besides, I thought you had a thing for Nikiforov.”

“I have a thing for everyone who has the eyes to notice my magnificence,” Chris laughed.  He nudged her shoulder.  “But I talk about myself enough.  What’s bothering you, my Italian princess?”  
“Michele would disagree about that pronoun,” Sara smiled.  “And nothing’s wrong.”

Chris laughed.  “I object on both accounts.  You’re my best student, so you are therefore  _ my  _ princess, not your incestuous-leaning brother’s, though if he ever wants to cement that incest, please do invite me to watch.”

“Shut up!” Sara laughed.  This was the good thing about Chris; he could always make her laugh with his inappropriate commentary.  That was what had made them friends last year when he’d started tutoring her in History of Dance, and this year Chris was a TA for her jazz improv class.  Michele was already poised to throw a fit over it.  

“You didn’t let me finish!” Chris reprimanded.  “Honestly, Sara, you’ve got to stop interrupting people!  I can never get a word in when I’m with you!”  She rolled her eyes, knowing he was joking about how quiet she was around most people.  It was one of his favorite ways to tease her besides bringing up Michele.  “And I know something’s wrong because I know what face you make when you listen to that playlist.  If you hate Ariana Grande so much, just stop listening.  We both know that my demo was at least fifty times better.”  
“Your demo was eight minutes of you moaning,” Sara reminded him.  “This is why Michele thinks you’re a pervert.  Well, and the fact that you hit on every undergrad in your class.”

“Not  _ every _ undergrad,” Chris protested.  “Only the hot ones.”  

“You’re a pervert, Christophe, and you need help.”

Chris arched an eyebrow at her suggestively.  “Are you going to provide that help?”

“As I said, in your dreams.”

“Every night,” he winked.  Sara rolled her eyes again.  Chris heaved a dramatic sigh, proving he should have been an acting major.  “Well, if you want my advice, and I’m sure you do, you should just fuck whoever’s on your mind and get this pining over with.”

“I”m not pining for anyone!” Sara exclaimed.

Chris nodded sagely.  “Well, if that’s the case, then you need to get your eyes fixed so you stop staring at a certain Russian.”  Sara blanched, and he laughed.  “It’s perfectly understandable.  Viktor is an Adonis!  Although his hubris leaves something to be desired.”

“So you do have a thing for that Russian!” Sara smiled.  “Just wait until I tell Liza.”  
“Viktor and I are over,” Chris said, and the laughter that colored his voice was notably lessened.  Sara looked at him in concern.  “It’s fine,” he smiled.  “I have someone else now.”

“Who?” she pried.

Chris scoffed.  “Please, knowing your friends, you’re lucky I mentioned Viktor.  You wouldn’t know him anyway.”

“Him?”  
“Don’t be a homophobe, Sara. It’s unbecoming.”  
She laughed.  “I’m not being homophobic.  Have you met Seung-Gil?  I’m just trying to figure it out.  The rumor mill would love this tidbit, you know.”

“Indeed I do.  But it’s nothing serious.  I’ve also been meeting with a few of my new students.  There was one girl who -”  
“No details!” Sara exclaimed.  

Chris laughed.  “Don’t tempt me then.  Come on, you can check into your room now.  I’ll help you unpack, and unlike Michele I won’t comment on what I find.”  
“I regret telling you about that,” Sara groaned.  

“As well you should because now I know that sweet little Sara has plans to lose that innocence.”  Sara hit him with her purse and again only made him laugh.  “If you need condoms, I have enough to share,” he teased.  

“That’s it,” Sara shook her head.  “I’m officially never talking to you again.  Bye, Chris.”  She walked off toward her dorm.  They’d nearly reached it in the time they’d been talking, and she was admittedly grateful to have run into Chris since she knew she would have spent the whole walk pitying herself otherwise.  

Chris blew her a kiss.  “Good-bye, my love!  I’ll miss you!”  
“Shut up!” she yelled at him and, laughing, entered the dorm.  Sara browed Instagram while she waited in line for the assignment.  Anxiety was starting to form in the pit of her stomach again as she _again_ questioned her choice to stay outside the sorority house with an unknown roommate.  She wanted the full college experience though, and this was part of it.  Besides that, anything had to be better than another year in the sorority.  Anything.  

\--- --- ---

It hadn’t taken very long to unpack, and Sara was annoyed by that fact.  She’d stored her things at the school over the summer and most of it had already been moved to her new dorm building.  With the basic furniture already in the room, all that was left for Sara to do was make her bed, arrange her school supplies and pictures, and put away her clothes.  She’d prolonged the activity as long as possible, but now she was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling and worrying about her roommate again.  

She scrolled through Instagram again even though there wasn’t anything new since she’d last checked five minutes ago.  With a sigh, Sara leaned off her bed and grabbed a novel from her backpack.   _Anna Karenina_ , a novel that was ironic for multiple reasons.  Besides her brother’s unexplained hatred for Russia, the soap opera plot of the novel was a world away from her own.  That may have been why she relished the scandal so much though.    
Suddenly, there was the sound of a key in the lock, and Sara dropped the book into her bag to watch her roommate enter.  This was it.


	2. What One Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara and Mila find out they're roommates, but Michele brings up an issue that threatens to divide the students.

Just as the door opened, Mila’s hand, dampened by the thin sheen of sweat that covered most of her body, slipped and the door slammed shut. “Blyaaaaaad’” Mila moaned, letting her head come forward to hit the door. “Please, God, give me a break,” she begged quietly, almost as if in prayer. Then she remembered. Zara. “Oh, thank you, God,” Mila whispered in relief. Zara, her roommate, was probably the most organized and prepared person Mila ever met. Initially, the Indian girl was almost frightening. What eighteen year old kept three separate calendars  _ and _ a planner?  Mila did well to remember to set her alarm at night, wake up at a reasonable time, eat breakfast, and get to class. Anything else was infinitely far beyond the range of “doable” for Mila. Zara had been a blessing; in fact, she was probably the only reason that Mila was able to survive her first year of independence (if it could be called that). 

Zara would be inside. Of course. Zara probably showed up no later than five minutes after move-in began. Mila rapped at the door a few times with the flat of her hand. “Zaaaaaaara, please come open this door.” A bag of sheets fell from the top of her cart. “Der’mo! Zaraaa, I’m dying out here!” She was being dramatic in the way that at times made Zara laugh and at others made her groan. “I’m a damsel in - what’s the word? Oh, distrust! - I’m a damsel in distrust, Zara! Come be my knight!” 

Finally, Mila heard quick and light footsteps approaching the door. Perfect. She leaned her head up towards the ceiling. “Really, God. Thanks.” Before she could lean back fully, the door swung open and Mila lost her balance and toppled inside, knocking down Zara. Mila laughed, pushing herself up off her friend. “Sorry, Zara,” she said, but then realized that the person beneath her wasn’t Zara at all.

Mila rolled off the other girl, both a little embarrassed and a little confused. “You aren’t Zara,” she said with a frown.

Mila Babicheva.  Mila Babicheva.  Holy hell.  It was Mila fucking Babicheva.  Sara stared wide-eyed at the redhead.  

“Who are you?”

Sara opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to form words.  “M-mila Babicheva?”  Holy shit.  Holy shit.  Mila Babicheva was her roommate?  Sara had never been particularly religious despite her catholic upbringing, but there was a rush of praise in her thoughts as she realized the miracle that had just occurred.  Then her face heated as it came back to her - Mila falling through the door onto her.  Mila pressing up against her.  Holy shit.  

“I really hope not. That’s my name.”  

Her face burning, Sara blinked several times and pushed herself into a sitting position.  “No, I-I’m Sara.”  Wasn’t that the name Mila had said earlier?  Sara?  Or maybe it had been the accent.  This miracle was quickly becoming a nightmare.

“What?”  Mila’s brow wrinkled.  “There must have been a mistake.  My roommate is named Zara. Zara Laghari. But that’s not you.” she sat up and looked around, her pretty brow creasing again.  Sara felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.  Of course Mila wasn’t really going to be her roommate.  That was fine.  That was totally fine.  “Maybe I should go talk to the office, then. Do you think I could leave my cart here while I go? I may cry if I have to move it any more.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, of course.”  She couldn’t imagine the confident Russian girl ever crying, but if she only had a few minutes to spend with her idol/crush, she would try to make the most of it.  She hadn’t really done well so far.  “I mean, I can watch your stuff.  I won’t go through it or anything.  I’m not a creep or anything.”  She laughed awkwardly at herself and noticed Mila wasn’t laughing.

Mila gave her a confused look.  That probably wasn’t the best thing to say, Sara reflected.  “Uh, okay. Thanks?” Mila pushed her hair back, though it fell back in her face again, too short to really be tucked behind her ear.  She let out a slow breath. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. Thank you. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Sara said.  “Yeah, of course.”  So eloquent.  Should she apologize?  Before she could, Mila rose gracefully and walked out, and Sara tugged the heavy cart into the room as she waited for Mila to come back.  It was probably wrong, but she found herself hoping Mila wouldn’t be able to switch out.   _ Please.  Please.  Please,  _ she prayed.

Mila stepped out of the room, wiggling her fingers back at the other girl - Zara, she supposed? - before closing the door behind her. Zara was certainly an unexpected twist to the day. The olive-skinned brunette looked familiar enough to Mila that she was certain she’d seen her somewhere before, maybe even spoken to her. Mila felt badly for Zara. It must have been startling to have a strange Russian girl tumble through her door onto her only to have her disappear moments later. Mila also felt a bit rude, just abandoning the other girl without any explanation or apology at the situation, but with the day she had, there was no remaining mental capacity available to be dedicated to carefully patching Zara’s roommate situation. Mila took the elevator - this time without the massive cart, thankfully - down to the first floor where she immediately found the housing office.

A mahogany door stood open, revealing a room that appeared to be a bit too rich for an office. Perhaps that’s what the college did with all the students’ money. Mila slipped inside, already smiling and preparing her words. “Hello, ma’am?” she asked as politely as she could, approaching the figure anchored in the chair by the door.

The blonde head of hair sitting in the chair spun around quickly. “Who are you calling ‘ma’am’, baba?” Instead of the housing director, a younger guy was there. A younger  _ Russian _ guy, thankfully. Mila sighed.

“Sorry,” she apologized, switching to her comfortable native tongue, “I’m looking for someone who could help with a roommate problem?” The younger Russian barked out a laugh.

“Oh, good luck with that,” he said. The guy raised a single finger lazily and gestured to the door at the side of the room. “She’s in there.”

Mila smiled genuinely. “Thanks!” She took a deep breath, trying to remain positive as she stepped into the new office. Each part of her day seemed to be a new mishap or struggle of some sort.  _ If this just works out,  _ Mila told herself,  _ it’ll be okay. _

In an equally as luxurious room sat a woman at a desk. “What?” she snapped at Mila the second she stepped into the room.

“Hi! I’m having a roommate problem. See, I’m supposed to be in room 712 with my friend Zara L-”

“Do you know what today is?”

“What?

“I’ll ask again: what is today?”

“Um.” Mila closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “It’s Sunday, right? The 28th?”

“Stupid girl!” The woman shouted. “It is  _ Move-in Day!  _ Do you know what that means?” This time, Mila was smart enough to withhold her answer. “It means that there are over fifty thousand students on this campus that are having housing problems. The roommate lists were triple checked by our secretaries. They’re final.”

“But-” Mila protested weakly. 

“Goodbye,” the woman said with a measure of finality. Mila stood for a moment longer, eying the hawkish looking woman. “Are you deaf? Can you hear nothing? GOODBYE!” she shouted. Mila failed to internalize her groan as she stepped out of the office, ignoring the snickers of the blond still perched on his chair in the front room. 

While on the elevator, Mila pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Zara, ready to complain about the unfair nature of NYU housing. 

_ In room 714. Wrong roommate and evil housing director!! How will I survive? _

Just as the elevator dinged, announcing its stop at the 7th floor, Mila’s phone buzzed with the response from Zara.

_ I can’t believe we’re paying almost $20,000 a year for this. _

Mila smiled down at her phone, trying to relish the feeling in the midst of her bad day. She walked down the hall, finding the room again. This time, the door was cracked ever so slightly open. She slid her fingers into the gap between the door and its frame, pulling it open to allow her entrance. Once inside, Mila immediately flopped down on the empty, uncovered bed.

After a few moments, she rolled over to look at the new Zara. 

“Well,” Mila said, “since we’re actually roommates now, want to help me unpack?”

* * *

 

There were two sentences running through Sara’s mind.  One contained words her brother didn’t know she knew (Holy fucking shit).  The other was the fact that Mila Babicheva was her actual honest-to-God roommate.  She probably looked as dumb as a stereotypical sorority girl as she stared at Mila.  

“Um, yeah.  Yeah, I can do that.”  Sara forced her legs to move over to the loaded cart.  Mila rose from the bed and helped her unload boxes onto the floor.  “Um, do you want me to take this downstairs?  I don’t know where your things go.”

“I owe you my life,” Mila deadpanned, immediately following her comment with a smile. 

Sara smiled at the phrase, a little confused but very, very pleased.  She pulled the now considerably lighter cart into the hall and then to the elevator.  It took only a few minutes to reach the first floor, navigate the crowd, and return the cart to the line-up, but Sara took an extra moment to lean against a wall and catch her breath. 

_ Mila Babicheva.   _

She pulled out her phone eagerly and opened it to the messaging app.  Her finger hovered over Michele, but he would kill her if she brought this up.  Chris?  He was a friend, but not someone she was out to.  That group really included only Emil.  Despite being Michele’s friend, the Czech student was involved enough in Mila’s life that she felt comfortable with him.  And when it came to relationships, he was more observant than Michele; he’d probably noticed Sara’s attraction to women before she had and had therefore been the only person she’d been able to talk to about such things.  Her sorority friends didn’t even come into consideration.

Sara pulled up Emil’s contact, and her fingers hovered over the keys.  Then she saw her last message.   _ Can you PLEASE get Michele out of my hair for one day?  I can’t have him help me move in again.   _

The two guys were still out together.  While it was unlikely, Sara had the nagging worry that Michele would see the text if she sent it to Emil.  She sighed and locked her phone.  She needed more friends who weren't also her brother’s friends.  Dropping her phone into her pocket, Sara returned to the elevator, pressing herself into the crush of students moving to their rooms.  “Seventh floor please.”  
“What?”

“ _ Seven _ ,” she repeated, louder this time.

“Eleven?” 

“No,” she groaned.  “Just...just nevermind.”  She’d wait until more people got off if she needed to.  Luckily, someone else heard her and pressed the button.  Sara gave the stoic guy - someone she didn’t know - a smile.  She stepped off when the reached the floor, and was surprised to see the guy follow her.  He continued following her as she walked to her room, and Sara pursed her lips.  She discreetly reached into her pocket to hold her keys like she’d learned in a self-defense class a few years before.  

The door was already open, and Sara quickened her pace to go inside, shutting it behind her.  Mila looked up from her suitcase which now lay open on her bed.  “There’s some weird guy following me!” Sara burst out.

A second later, there was knocking on the door.  Mila crossed the room and peered through the hole in the door.  She laughed “It’s just Otabek.”  The Russian girl flung open the door and hugged the still-unsmiling man standing there.  “Beka! It’s been so long!”  

Otabek frowned.  “It’s been two weeks, Mila.”

Mila laughed in that loud way Sara loved, and the young Italian felt her heart beat just a little faster.  Then, Mila grabbed Otabek’s bicep, and Sara felt a jealousy twist a knife in her gut.  “Zara, this is my friend Otabek.  He’s not as scary as he looks.” 

Sara took in the big unsmiling man.  Not scary.  She’d keep that in mind.  She extended her hand cautiously, “Um, hi, Otabek.  I’m Sara.”

He shook her hand with surprising gentleness.  “Sara?” he asked, tossing a look at Mila.  “With an S?”

Sara nodded and saw Mila blush.  “Shit.  I’m sorry, Sara.” Even with the name now corrected, in Mila’s thick accent, there was no difference in its sound. “I didn’t realize.”

“Oh, no, it-it’s fine,” Sara stammered.  Mila Babicheva was apologizing to her.  Over mispronouncing her name.  This was not something even fantasies prepared her for.  Then she felt guilty for thinking about what  _ had _ happened in those fantasies.  They were more graceful than this certainly though.  She tried not to focus on Otabek’s muscles and the fact that Mila still had her hand there.  

Otabek cleared his throat.  “What do you want us to do?”

Mila grinned, her cheery demeanor back again.  “Want to loft the bed? I need the extra space for all my clothes. My arms are way too sore from yesterday’s practice, though.” 

The guy rolled his eyes.  “Sure, even though as I recall you weren’t  _ at _ practice because you were still recovering from jet lag yesterday.”

She smirked, and Sara’s heart leapt.  Even the twisted smile looked beautiful on Mila’s features.  “You’re a prince, Beka!”

Sara watched as Otabek single-handedly started to lift the bed.  “Um, do you want me to unpack some clothes for you?”  

“Sure!” Mila smiled.  She lifted the third of her four suitcases onto Sara’s bed.  “I’ll go through the other one.  All this should go in drawers. There’s not really a system or anything, so don’t worry about where things go.” Taking the fourth and final suitcase to her closet, Mila removed each article of clothing and hung them on sleek black velvet hangers.  Even her hangers were impressive, Sara realized.  She felt bad for the cheap plastic ones she’d bought.  

Sara unzipped the suitcase and folded each t-shirt lovingly into a square the way it was done in stores.  She consciously repressed her inner fangirl that screamed about touching Mila Babicheva’s clothes.  And then the last t-shirt was folded and put away and Sara found herself looking at a pile of lacy thongs.  

Her neck heated first, then she started to sweat.  Holy shit.  Sara didn’t think she’d ever before thought that phrase so many times in one hour.  Slowly, she placed the first thong in the top dresser drawer.  There was a part of Sara that warned her to finish quickly and be done thinking about Mila and thongs, but there was another part of Sara - the part that seemed to be controlling her hands - that went as slowly as was humanly possible without looking like a creep as she put the thongs away, stacking them gently as she studied their colors.  

Her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text.  Sara opened it, grateful for the distraction from the thongs.  

**Emil:** _ I tried to stop him. _

What?  Sara started to text back when suddenly the door slammed open. Everyone in the room looked up in surprise, Sara most of all as she saw Michele.  Fuck. She dropped the last thong into the drawer and slammed it shut. “Michele!  What are you doing here?”

He darted through the room with surprising ease considering the mess of Mila’s luggage. Michele threw his arms around Sara. “I'm here to help you unpack!”

“Oh,” Sara said.  She wasn't sure if her blush now was due to Michele or just an aftereffect of handling Mila’s underwear. “Um, I already unpacked, Mickey.  I’m just helping my roommate then I'll meet you for dinner.”  A figure appeared in the doorway and Sara met Emil’s apologetic eyes.

“Roommate?” Michele asked.  He looked suspiciously at Otabek. 

“Yeah.  Mila Babicheva.”  Sara tried to be as nonchalant as possible and knew she failed at least partially from the look Emil gave her. 

Michele didn't notice her awkwardness though.  His eyes were fixated on Mila.  He glowered at her.  “Babicheva?” he asked accusingly. 

Mila stood, leveling a glare at him.  “That a problem, Crispino?”

Sara looked between the pair of them, knowing something was wrong though she had no idea what.  She cleared her throat.  “You guys have met then. That's great!”  She sounded fake even to herself.  It figured though.  She was actually rooming with Mila Babicheva and Mickey had already managed to mess it up somehow.

* * *

 

Michele Crispino. Of course. The sight of the Italian man was something like a bad taste in Mila’s mouth. A year ago, the two had been on what could be described as friendly terms. Most of the international dance majors were well acquainted, so of course Mila knew Michele. 

“WHAT THE HELL, BABICHEVA?” Michele screeched.  “Are you Russians actively sabotaging our lives now?”

Mila laughed humorlessly. “ _ We’re  _ the ones trying to sabotage  _ your  _ lives? That’s hilarious! Please, go tell Viktor that. I’m  _ sure  _ he’ll agree.” To her, his ignorance and hypocrisy were stunning. “None of us tried to get anyone fired!”

“You brought my sister into it!  She’s not a part of this mess!”  He grabbed Sara’s arm “Come on.  We’re getting you re-assigned.”

“To me, Crispino,” Mila spat, “it looks like you’re the one dragging your sister around.”

“Fired?” Sara asked, looking between the people in the room.  “Who’s getting fired?”  
“Viktor Nikiforov if I have anything to say about it,” Michele snarled. 

“Viktor is NOT getting fired!” Mila smacked the nearby table with the flat of her hand. “That crossed a line and you know it.”

Michele only shook his head.  “You don’t know our side of it.”  He gripped Sara’s wrist more tightly.  “And I’m  _ not _ letting my sister stay in a room with you for another second!”

“Mickey!” Sara protested futilely as he pulled her out of the room.  Emil shot an apologetic look inside then ran after them.

Mila turned to Otabek, her usually soft face marred by a harsh scowl. “Damn Europeans.”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to explain?”

Mila turned, looking at him with hardened eyes. “You sure you actually want to hear about all of this  der’mo ?” The Kazakh dancer was probably the least dramatic person she knew. Even though he was around for the thick of the action that started in the spring, Otabek was seemingly oblivious to the whole story. 

He frowned a little. “I didn’t realize that it was serious.”

“It wasn’t, not until Chris went to the Dean and tried to get Viktor fired.” The malice in Mila’s voice was hardly concealed.

“Why did Chris do that?” asked Otabek, this time with audible interest.

“Yuuri,” Mila stated, dropping down onto her freshly made bed.

“Who?” Otabek asked. Mila sighed, then scooted over to one side of the mattress. She patted the empty space beside her. After a moment’s hesitation, Otabek dropped down beside her.

“Get ready, Beka, this is a real ride.

“Last year, Viktor was seeing Chris - you know, the other TA, the Swiss one - but not very seriously. He wasn’t committed. After the dance exhibition last spring, when all the other colleges brought their dancers here, most of us were at an afterparty. You were studying in your dorm, I think. Anyway, there was this Japanese student from some college in Detroit at the party. Viktor was head over heels for this guy. I’ve never seen anything like it. 

“Viktor dropped Chris and started spending his time on the new guy, Yuuri. So Chris, being hurt, pissed, and childish, decided to march himself down to the Dean’s office and report Viktor for carrying on a relationship with a student. It didn’t work, partly because Yuuri wasn’t even a student here yet, and also because Viktor doesn’t have any authority over Yuuri as a TA. But still, the bottom line is that Chris tried to ruin Viktor’s career because he was mad about the breakup. That’s why we don’t talk to the Europeans anymore.”

Mila leaned against the wall behind her. Stupid Chris. Stupid Michele. Otabek glanced over at her. “What about Seung-Gil?”

“What?” 

“He hangs out with them now, and you don’t like him anymore. But Seung-Gil isn’t European; he’s from Korea.”

Mila frowned. “He’s European by association.”

“Oh,” Otabek said. “This is all very dramatic.” 

“Please, don’t pretend like you’re eighty. You have drama in your life, too. Aren’t you going on a date soon?”

Under Otabek’s dark skin, a hint of a blush could be seen. “Well -” he started, cut off by the door banging open against the wall. 

Michele stormed across the room and jabbed a finger in Mila’s face.  “I don’t know how, but this is _your_ fault.  I don’t want Sara involved with you, and she’s switching out as soon as possible!  Until then, you’d better not hurt her or I’ll -”  
“Mickey,” Sara said in a quieter voice.  “Leave it alone.”

“If it weren’t for that dumb Russian punk in the office, I would have -”  
Mila wondered if she was imagining the blush darkening Otabek’s cheeks.

Sara led Michele away.  “I know, Mickey.  I’ll be fine.  I promise.”  She smiled as she pushed him out the door, making several promises to text and call if any problems came up.  The door shut, she sagged against it and gave Mila and Otabek a very obviously fake smile.  “I’m so  _ so _ sorry about him.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of him being such an asshole to you?” Mila asked, ignoring Otabek’s shocked look at her forwardness. Part of Mila worried that Sara had been in on the whole scheme, but it was contested by the fact that Mila never saw Sara around when any of the drama was happening.

Sara bit her lower lip.  “He’s not an asshole so much as he’s overprotective.  And he’s my brother.  He means well, you know?”

Otabek gave her a curious look, though the expression looked almost identical to all his other expressions unless you knew him well.  “My sister would kill me if I acted like that.”

Mila snorted, knowing it was a true answer, but she felt a little bad when she saw Sara’s uncomfortable expression. From the few minutes that she’d seen the siblings together, she sensed a problematic relationship between the two. At best, Michele was a tyrant. Mila frowned for a moment, not liking the thought of someone ordering her every action.  It took her a moment to realize Sara was talking.  

“I’d like to, um, take you all to dinner, if that’s okay.  To apologize for Mickey.  I really don’t know what this drama is, and I’m not part of it, and -”  
“Dinner sounds great,” Mila interrupted.

* * *

 

Otabek didn’t talk.  Or smile.  Sara wondered if it was because he didn’t like her or if he was just quiet like that.  Fortunately, Mila made up for the silence by conversing easily with Sara about their room.  She still didn’t seem entirely happy about not rooming with her friend, but she was interested to learn Sara was a dance major as well.  

It was a relatively short walk to Carroll Place, an Italian restaurant not even a quarter mile from Washington Square Park.  Sara loved to frequent the place whenever she started missing home.  Also, it wasn’t terribly expensive, so that was in its favor.  They were seated quickly, and Sara gave recommendations to Mila when the other girl asked.  It was still unreal to even be talking to the beautiful Russian girl, and Sara had yet to process the idea of living with her for an entire school year.  

“Ugh, I don’t want to eat at this stupid restaurant!”

All three of them looked at the blond boy entering the restaurant accompanied by an imposing woman in a bright yellow coat that seemed too heavy for August.  Sara and Mila exchanged a sober look, both recognizing both the woman in charge of housing and the kid who hung out in her office.  

“Hey, Yuri!” Otabek called.  His voice, though relatively quiet, carried across the room.  The blond boy looked over at them, and his expression faltered into confusion.  

The woman with him approached the table.  “Yuri, are these your friends?”  She gave both Mila and Sara rather displeased looks.  She didn’t wait for an answer.  “Why don’t you eat with them then, and I’ll meet Yakov without you.”  Before Yuri, or anyone else for that matter, could respond, she was gone.  There was an awkward silence for a moment.  

Otabek said something quietly to Mila, and she moved to sit beside Sara.  Yuri took the now empty seat in the booth, and Otabek slipped his phone into his pocket.  “So,” Sara said to break the silence, “are you a student, Yuri?”  
“Da, of course I’m a student!  Why else would I be here?”

“Yuri’s in high school,” Otabek explained.  “He’s only taking a few classes this year, but he’ll be enrolled full-time next fall.”  Sara blinked.  That was the most she’d heard Otabek say at one time.  

“Oh, are you guys dating?”  
Yuri and Otabek looked at each other, and Sara saw a blush on Yuri’s neck as Otabek answered.  “Yeah.”

“Beka!” Mila exclaimed.  “That’s so cute!”

“It’s not cute!” Yuri snarled.  “Hag,” he muttered under his breath.  

\--- --- ---

Despite Yuri’s explicit, somewhat rude comments throughout the meal, it overall went very well.  By the end, Sara felt like Mila actually really liked her, and, though it was strange and a little uncomfortable to talk to someone on whom she had such a huge crush, she liked getting to know Mila as a person.  The only downside to the evening was that they ran into Michele on the way back to the dorms.  

Mila, understandably Sara felt, went on her own back to their room.  Mickey watched her go then faced Sara.  “I don’t like her, Sara.  I don’t think you should hang out with her.”

“She’s my roommate, Mickey.  I can’t just ignore her for an entire year!”

“You can try.  I’m telling you, Sara, she’s no good.  You don’t want to get involved with her crowd.  Just don’t get too close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from this Tolstoy quote: “Is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels?”

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this chapter came from the Tolstoy quote: “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”


End file.
